


In Toussaint

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caring, Comfort, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Grief/Mourning, Minor Angst, Parent-Child Relationship, Returning Home, Short & Sweet, Sunrises, Toussaint (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18465133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: When Ciri shows up at Corvo Bianco unannounced, Geralt can't help but worry that something has gone truly wrong.





	In Toussaint

The aroma of fresh baked bread pulled Geralt from his sleep and tugged him from the comfortable bed. Even after a year, he couldn’t believe Corvo Bianco was his. Waking up in the same room day after day still felt strange, but good.

He slipped into a loose fitting shirt and trousers and drifted into the main hall, following the smell of the bread as if it were a ghost, alert and eager to find its origin. Hiring Marlene to cook had been one of his better decisions and a luxury he would never regret in his long life.

A beautiful array of fresh fruits, hot bread, rich butter and jams, delicate cuts of meats and several cheeses covered the end of the long table in the main hall. Next to the fruit, Geralt found a pair of familiar calfskin gloves and a fine sword.

Geralt stared at the two items, unable to believe his eyes. He picked up one of the gloves and brought it to his nose. Ciri. She was supposed to be in Vizima learning her role as Empress of Nilfgaard, not here.

For a moment, his stomach threatened to drop down to his bare feet. If she was here, something might be wrong, she might need his help, might be hurt. He urged his heart to stop pounding. The wild hunt no longer chased her and she had proven time and time again she could take care of herself. But that didn’t explain why she had come.

Geralt gathered a tray of fruits and cheese, being sure to select foods he knew Ciri loved. She’d be at the top of the hill behind the main house. Whenever she visited she gravitated to the place and stayed there for hours watching the sun rise and climb into the sky. He built a small pavillion there just for her and furnished it with a comfortable couch and table.

He imagined being here, surrounded by gentle rolling hills striped with orderly grapevines and nothing more to worry about than if she should spend the afternoon in a hot bath or curled up with a book, brought her a sense of peace and stillness. After the constant busyness of Vizima, where she would be required to visit with dignitaries and sit in on council meetings, she needed this peace even more.

He carried the tray along with a warm earthen jug of tea and a pair of mugs up the hill. The chill of morning clung to the stone steps under his feet. Come afternoon they’d be pleasantly warm. A familiar pair of knee high boots came into view, along with an unruly mop of ashen hair. She leaned back into the couch, eyes closed, letting the sun warm her face.

The sight brought back an unbidden memory and along with it a pang of raw fear. Once, he’d found her lifeless and cold, layed out atop wooden crates as if she were sleeping. Regardless of how many times he’d seen her well after that, he hadn’t fully recovered from the shock. He wouldn’t truly be at ease until he could look her in the eyes and see for himself that she was well and whole.

Ciri didn’t open her eyes when Geralt sat down next to her on the couch. The smallest of smiles wrinkled the corner of her eyes, letting him know she wasn’t asleep. He began arranging the plates of fruit and cheese on the table, being careful to preserve the peace and stillness.

After a long moment, she broke the silence. “You were asleep when I arrived.” Her voice was calm and quiet. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Geralt poured hot tea into one of the mugs and offered it to her. “Wouldn’t have minded. I like it when you’re here.” Because when you are here, I know you are safe, he wanted to continue, but didn’t. She had grown up so much in the last few years.

She wrapped her hands around it and pulled it close to her chest with a satisfied sigh. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It feels more like your home every time I visit.” A trace of sadness touched her words, like she wanted to tell him something, but wasn’t sure how.

Geralt learned it was best to wait at times like this. Ciri was like a rose, she needed time to open up and show what was tightly bound up inside. Trying to tease it out of her would result in being pricked by a thorn, or worse, damaging the fragile bud.

He gestured to the tray. “I thought you might like some breakfast.”

Ciri selected one of the strawberries and held it gently between her fingers. “Never imagined you as the charming host. This is nice.”

Geralt poured himself a mug and sat back into the couch. The rays of morning sun poured over him like soothing water. He closed his eyes. “Don’t tell. Last thing I need is Dandelion finding out.” He took a sip of the lightly sweetened tea. It tasted of mint and lemons. “He’ll try to give me advice. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He couldn’t fully relax, not until she told him why she had come and if she needed him. He wanted her to need him, wanted to be at her side as she took on this new role. Whatever she came all this way to tell him, it was something she wanted to be alone for. He’d wait. He could be patient.

Geralt plucked a cube of hard white cheese from the plate. “Would you like Barnabas to make up your room?” He wanted her to say yes, then he’d have some clue to how long she intended to stay. Staying the night would give him the assurance that he’d enjoy one more sunrise with her.

She shook her head. The sadness he heard in her voice now knotted her brow. She lowered her head. “No, I can’t stay long. Emhyr doesn't know I slipped out. I’d rather he didn’t.”

It was an opening, albeit a small one. “Is everything okay between you two?” he asked gently, trying hard not to force an answer, but needing to know.

“It’s fine. He’s fine.” Ciri rolled the strawberry into her palm. Her gaze remained on the horizon. “It’s just … sometimes I need a place where I’m understood.”

Geralt knew the feeling, knew what it was like to not quite fit in anywhere he went. His eyes, his scars, his hair, and his swords tended to draw the wrong kind of attention. Those who tried to get close to him always had an ulterior motive, and never a good one. He hated that she would struggle the same way, it wasn’t fair.

He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. “You are always welcome here. You know that.” It was the least he could offer.

She leaned forward and set the mug of tea down on the edge of the table, then resting her elbows on her knees. “I miss Kaer Morhen. Miss Papa Vesemir.” Her head sank between her shoulders. “I’m still angry I couldn’t save him.”

“I know how you feel. He was a good man.” Even now, surrounded by his own vineyards and comfort, the only place Geralt felt truly at home was that broken drafty castle. The last fight with the Wild Hunt left it too damaged to salvage. Without Vesemir there, no one had the heart to try.

He wished he could ease Ciri’s heart. Long experience taught him sometimes the only cure for guilt and anger was time, and with her new responsibilities as Empress of Cintra, she would have less and less of it. The thought worried him.

“One day, I hope you find a way to make peace with yourself.” Course emotion caught on the edges of each of his words, making them hard to say. “What happened that day was horrible, there’s no denying it. We all did what we thought was best.”

“What about you?” She turned her head to finally meet his gaze. “Have you been able to make peace with yourself yet?”

A thousand excuses and lies darted through his mind like startled birds. He could tell her he found peace, that there was hope for her in time, but she deserved the truth. How could he tell her that he woke most nights covered in sweat with his heart pounding because of the nightmares? How could he ask her to believe him when he still struggled?

“No,” he finally said. “I haven’t.”

She shifted on the couch, suddenly looking so small, reminding him of the little girl he once cared for. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She wrapped her arms around her knees. “For telling the truth. It’s good to know I’m not alone.”

He scooted closer, unsure if she wanted the contact, but aching to hold her like he used to. They both needed the comfort. He set a hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was there. Long moments passed before she turned into him and pressed her face into his shoulder. He nuzzled his face into her hair. “Oh, my dear Witcher girl. You’re never alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments feed the writer!  
> While I love action and fighting scenes and especially putting characters in danger and letting them get hurt and then taken care of, I wanted to try my hand at developing stronger internal emotion within a relatively short work. Let me know if I succeeded :)


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